


Unhealthy

by UnfunnyClown



Series: Sheltered Au [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Socks Crew (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Gore, Intended cannibalism, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnfunnyClown/pseuds/UnfunnyClown
Summary: Socks spiral down a hellhole and he gets desperate
Relationships: Laff & Nicholas | SocksFor1
Series: Sheltered Au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180058
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	Unhealthy

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot contains the following:  
> Starvation, self harm(?), intended cannibalism, drinking sewer water/gross things, gore(?)
> 
> If this disturbs you, please click off

Food wasn't a problem when he was free to roam, he never had to relay on anyone to feed him. 

But now? 

Locked up in a grim, dull room, he had to pray that Laff didn't forget about him. Otherwise he'll be dead where he sits. 

Water was secured. 

As reluctant as he was, he gave in and drank the water from the sewers, doing a decent job at holding himself back from puking out his entire stomach whenever he drank. 

No one else seems to care about him anymore. 

He only heard insults and mockery come from people he cherished and cared about. The few who still care for him visited him rarely, including Muffin, the homeless man who had as much time as possible in the world. 

Laff was the only face he can relay on seeing daily, and even then they couldn't chat much. 

He was the priest and an adventurer at heart, so he was always busy running off doing priest things or exploring.

Nighttime was the most he'll socialise. 

Oompa would always show up, actually talking with him. Sometimes he would hear something hit the walls, other times Oompa was too tired to continue making slow progress. Occasionally he'll be with someone else, Joocie and Blaza, Laff would show up as well.

They all didn't agree with the others, so they discussed plans on breaking him out occasionally. For the most part though, they just try their best to keep his spirits up.

Then out of nowhere,  they stopped . 

So he waited,  and waited.

_ Maybe they're extra tired from adventuring. _

And waited.

_Maybe they're attending an event with the others_.

And waited..

_ Maybe they visited Dino.  _

_Or Dino visited them_.

And waited...

_ Maybe it's still daytime. _

..And waited...

_They'll probably show up soon._

...and waited, he did.

_ How... long does a day last?  _

Maybe he should take a nap. When they do end up showing up, they'll wake him up. 

He thinks,  he _hopes_. 

It would be hilariously sad when they finally visit him, he's unresponsive and asleep. 

_ Did they just... forget? _

_ No it can't be... Oompa said he's been doing it daily.  _

Nobody needed to know if he cried himself to bed, entering a realm that didn't look too different from his current situation.

Because clearly,  nobody wanted to know. 

He jerked awake when he felt someone shake him lightly, looking up, he was greeted by a familiar, comforting gas mask. 

He heard Laff sighed out. He just stayed there in confusion when Laff placed his head onto his chest. 

"Don't scare me like that Socks..." 

He didn't had the energy to respond, so he just stared at the familiar walls.

"I thought..  _ I thought you were dead _ ." 

He hesitantly placed a hand onto Laff's head, patting him. His quickened breathing was obvious to Laff and he despised it. 

"I'm  so sorry,  I was distracted with everything and I forgot to get you some bread and every time I remembered I was busy with something else ."

He said nothing, simply moving to hug the distressed man on his chest when he broke into sobs. 

"Socks, please say something. 

I  know you can speak,  I heard you speak ." 

He coughed out. Laff jumped back and tore himself away from him. Socks sat up and pushed his back against the wall. Then he made eye contact with the crouching man. 

"Why haven't you guys visited?" 

That hurt. He needed water, but Laff never brings water. No one ever brings water. 

So he'll just have to drink from the sewers later.

Laff's body shook and his chest risen up and down rapidly. 

"Woolf heard Oompa and you talking about breaking ya out... me and Dino had to enforce the gulag to please everyone else." He looked down and pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging it. "During that time no one was allow to visit, even at night." He pressed his face onto his knees. "I was distracted with collecting materials with the others that  I forgot about ya- "

He was cut off with a sob. 

"Socks..."

He broke into tears, trying his best to be silent as to not bring more attention to himself. 

"You're breaking my heart."

He crawled in on himself. 

He covered his eyes and began wiping,  roughly . With shaky hands, he desperately tried to get himself to stop crying. 

He choked and attempted to keep his mouth shut, shaking more every time his lips separate to make some sound. 

_ Stupid stupid stupid stupid- _

_ You're making Laff uncomfortable. _

** Stop it. **

Socks quickly learned and accepted that he would no longer get daily visits from Oompa, or much visits in general after that interaction.

Less mockery and insults as a result, but less friends and conversations as well. 

At least he can relay Laff on food.

Or so he thought. 

Time wasn't a concept to him anymore. For all he knows, it could've been months,  years even.

Despite that, he has a feeling it has been more than just a day. However, laying there on the floor, knocking on the floor to a long forgotten tune he has no grasp of anymore, he decided to give his friend the benefit of the doubt.

He got up and moved to sit on the bed after waking up, crawled up in a corner.   
  


It was something that he became unfamiliar with, but it was very much welcome. 

He pressed his back against the wall and shut his eyes. He decided to use his voice and mumble a strangely comforting melody. 

He stopped when his stomach interrupted him. 

A familiar silence washed over him, he placed his feet onto the bed and pulled his knees to his chest. He slipped into his bed and stared at the wall blankly. 

He coughed out and crawled in on himself. He shut his eyes and slipped away into another reality. 

When he woke up again, he didn't felt energised whatsoever, nor did he felt any more tired. 

He was just...  there , existing. 

He immediately headed towards the- 

Sewer system?  Toilet?

It was most likely intended as a toilet, but their modded world didn't have anything like that so it was more or less a source of water for him.

Thank god as well, who knows how'll much worse he'd be if he had to worry about pooping and all that. 

Although, mod or no mod, the water there still didn't taste any good, it still caused him great pain in his stomach. He had difficulty holding himself back from vomiting into his source of water, and he fully blamed it on the sewers. 

After all, Laff wouldn't purposely feed him poisonous food..

... _ would he? _

He shook those thoughts away. 

Laff is one of the only man left that cares about him,  _ there was no way _ . He tried to get him his bed back after Meme stole it,  _ and much later actually getting him a fresh bed _ , he even joined in on the discussions of breaking him out despite his heavy beliefs in laws and a proper justice system. 

He cares about him.

_ Surely. _

Socks have gotten on his knees in front of-  toilet , for the lack of any better words. He placed his hands into the familiar, room temperature water and brought it up to his lips. 

It was disgusting . 

But he had to fill his stomach one way or continue to wait for Laff to show up after unknown amount of days.

He drank more than he usually did.

He couldn't risk starving himself, despite how much his stomach was screaming at him to  _please stop_. 

He spent his time tracing the pattern of the room with his finger, waiting for either Laff,  _ or anyone really _ , to visit him to or for sleep to overtake him. 

He wouldn't even mind if Meme decides to visit him again. 

The arguments were better than just pure silence.

When he woke up on the cold hard floor, he repeated the pattern, only drinking a little bit more water this time. He decided to lay down on the bed and look up at the ceiling, letting his imagination run wild to pass the time. 

He fell asleep again. 

He woke up again.

Then he drink  drink d _rink drinkdrinkdr_ _ inkdrinkdrinkdrinkdrink — _

Waited for someone...  _ anyone _ to come and visit him. 

He fell asleep again.

And repeat. 

That became his routine.

Eventually, he decided to go through his astronaut suit. 

Not to put it back on, _as sad as that is_ , he just wanted to see what he had on him when he was forcefully sentenced there because not a single one of them checked and stripped him of any of his belongings. 

He stared blankly at three pieces of leather he had on him. He ignored the wooden sword, simply just staring at the leather.

He was standing on a chair in the second row when Wiktoria died. He...  couldn't have pick up any of her remains. 

He thinks. 

His eyes widened as realisation hit him. 

Socks dropped the leather and stood up suddenly. He succumbed back onto the floor quickly on all fours, scrapping his exposed elbows onto the rough ground, no doubt injuring himself. 

He uttered out a curse and flipped over to lay on his back. 

Just as quickly as they came, the black spots faded away from his vision. Even then, he still laid there, getting uncomfortably warm. 

There wasn't any wind to cool him down, nor was the water in the toilet that better of an option. So, he stayed on the ground, slowly getting warmer as he stared up at the ceiling.

No sudden movement,  _ noted.  _

When he finally felt better, he sat up and slowly got onto his feet then made his way over to the- He can't keep calling it the toilet, it makes it more weird that it needed to be. 

Water source?  Drinking fountain? 

Yeah, drinking fountain makes the most sense...  probably. 

He got as close as he physically could without touching the water, his left palm holding onto the wall firmly as he towered over the drinking fountain. He peeked into the blue water to try and find the steak he threw away. 

_ He was desperate, okay?  _

His right arm shot into drinking fountain, he ignored the growing pit in his stomach and he dived deeper and deeper into the sewer system. He held back his puke when the water jumped out and splashed onto him. 

He simply ignored it, shutting his eyes tight as he slowly added more and more of his right arm into the pile, up until the entirety of his right arm was submerged in the water. 

Excitement sparked through him when he felt his hand touch something. 

Socks grabbed onto it and pulled back out with little to no effort whatsoever. He immediately dropped the steak onto the ground when his eyes landed onto it. He backed up rapidly until he hit a wall. 

His right,  very moist and dirty hand went to grab his stomach and his left,  very much dry hand covered his mouth tightly. He crawled in on himself, staring far too intensely at the floor. 

He pushed the puke back down, however it couldn't just stay down, could it? It just had to keep on trying, growing up to his throat, effectively burning it, and demanding to be let out. 

He didn't let it out, he kept pushing it down, kept shallowing it back into his stomach. 

As much as he dislikes it, he had to eat...  _ that _ , savage as many of it as he can. Take little bits throughout the- the...  _ the days? _ He didn't want to eat it, but his stomach was demanding  something . 

He pushed back the forming tears and crawled back towards the steak. He shut his eyes as soon as he caught glimpse of steak, he felt around for the food and picked it up. 

Hesitantly, he brought it up to his lips and bit down. 

All the puke he pushed down immediately came rushing back up as soon as his tongue touched the steak. He dropped the meat and he turned away, his eyes snapping open as puke was ripped out of his throat. 

His arms wrapped around his stomach and he got onto his sides. He crawled in on himself, his body shaking with each sobs coming out of him. 

He fell asleep with the fresh scene vomit directly next to him and the taste of it lingering in his mouth. He can only prayed that none of his puke ended up in the drinking fountain as he shakily sobbed away, entering another world.

_ Laff, what did I do?  _

_ Did you change your mind? _

_ I'm sorry I'm sorry _

_ I'll apologise just-  please... _

**_ Come back. _ **

When he woke up, he gagged at the scene of the vomit. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. He cupped his mouth and shut his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. He stood up with shaky legs and walked over towards the drinking fountain. 

Relief filled him when he noticed that the puke narrowly missed it, he crouched down and cupped some water. He washed the stains off his face and the vomit out of his hair. 

He ignored the vomit puddle and the newly puke covered steak, walking over to the bed instead. He laid down onto the soft, comfort of  his  bed and crawled in on himself. He shut his eyes and slipped away to another reality, finding a man in lime green in his dreams he hasn't had since the beginning of his imprisonment. 

The man was nice, better than everyone else. They gave him comfort and touch he hasn't had in god knows how long. The man let cry and whispered sweet nothingness into his ears. 

The man wanted to help him, but he was sure the man wasn't actually there. 

Despite that, when he woke up, a scream was tore out of his throat. He didn't care if he woke someone up, he didn't care if they heard him, he didn't care because  _ he knew that they didn't care.  _

So he just grabbed a fistful of his hair tightly and pushed his knees back to his chest, burying his face into his knees as he screamed out until his stomach hurt, sobbing violently as he wished to return to the man in lime. 

He sat there for who knows how long, screaming as tears streamed down his cheeks. 

When he finally stopped, he hit the hay and shut his eyes in hopes to meet the man in lime again. 

And when he succeeded, he cried in joy and hugged the man tightly. He felt circles rubbed onto his back and laughter that wasn't his hit his ear. 

He spent more and more of his time asleep, just bathing in the man in lime's comfort. They hugged each other, they shared stories of a better time with no worries of the outside, the reality of his world. 

Then the man in lime asked him if he was alright. When he asked what he had meant, then they explained how unhealthy and tired he looked and sounded. Then he remembered everything in the gulag, what he was avoiding. 

He only hesitate for a second before confessing everything to them, the man in lime then asked something that confused him.

_**" 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕤𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕, 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥?"** _

His mind was hazy and he couldn't remember ever bringing it up with them. However, he shrugged it off. 

They wouldn't have brought it up to him if he didn't shared that information with them. 

He can trust the man in lime.

"Yeah, why?"

_**" ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥... 𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗?"** _

When he jumped backed at that suggestion, the man in lime quickly jumped in to explain himself. 

_**" 𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕧𝕚𝕧𝕖, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀'𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕓𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕕!"** _

"But you're not real?" 

A look of surprise and sadness washed over their face. His eyes widened slightly and his right hand moved to cover his slightly gaping open mouth. 

_**" 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤𝕟'𝕥 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝? ** _

_**𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤... 𝕤𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙."** _

He was frozen in the spot with confusion flooding through his system. The man in lime leaned over and hugged him. 

_**" 𝕀'𝕞 𝕤𝕠 𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪! 𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕨."** _

He jumped awake. 

No longer how hard he tried, how much he forced himself to sleep, he never entered the room with the man in lime again. 

Socks spent his time awake, thinking about his friend, about the suggestion he made. He still waited for a visit though, just from a man in a different shade of green. 

He had wondered towards the pile of his old clothing, pulling out the wooden sword. However, he didn't... cut himself immediately. 

He simply just held onto it during the entire time he's awake, even sleeping with it. 

It meant nothing to him, but after the man in lime brought it up, it now feels like it was his only connection with them. 

One day, he woke to the sense of blood instead of puke. 

Socks jumped up into a sitting position. He looked down to find that he had cut open an old scar in his sleep,  somehow . Not like he was sleeping with a literal weapon,  no of course not, that's ridiculous.

He just stared at the blood dripping down his arm, not moving to do anything about it. He ignored it simply and just moved to grab the wooden sword with his left hand. He walked over to his astronaut attire piled on the ground. 

He stared at the sleeves of the suit and his mind wondered off. He gripped onto it tightly, unbothered as blood dripped onto his beloved suit. 

He thrown it back down and slowly walked to stand in front of the bed. He gripped onto the weapon and smashed it against the wall with all his might, then it broke apart upon impact. 

He jumped back when the parts of the wooden sword flew back stabbed into him. 

He screamed out and fell backwards, hitting the back of his head against the floor, immediately knocking him out. 

When he woke up later, he found himself on the familiar warm bed. He sat up slowly, flinching upon feeling a new pain on his body. 

He looked down and found bandages wrapped around him. His black shirt taken off of him and folded neatly on the end of his bed, leaving him to find some actual, fresh looking bandages wrapped around him. 

Some wrapped around his chest, one around his left shoulder and his right elbow. 

It wasn't done by a professional, but whoever did it had past experience. 

He grabbed his shirt and put it back on to the best of his ability. His eyes laid onto the dried vomit puddle still there and then towards the untouched steak. He tore his glaze away from the ground and looked down to his right arm, laughing soullessly when he realised that the injury was left untreated. 

Okay...  _ that has to be a sign. _

Realisation hit him and he began desperately looking for his broken, wooden sword. 

_ Maybe he'll see the man in lime again if he ate himself?  _

_ Or parts of himself, at least.  _

He grabbed onto a perfectly fine wooden sword. His mind didn't question it, simply just accepting that it was from his friend. 

He moved towards his astronaut suit and got onto his knees. He grabbed onto a sleeve and ripped it off with his sword. 

He shoved it into his mouth and without much difficulty or thought, he cut into himself. 

His scream was stopped by the tore sleeve, parts and bits slipping of it slipped out. He flinched when the sharp weapon made contact with his arm. He pushed deep into his arm, watching as more and more of his arm broke up. Tears prickling at the corner of his eyes as he cut himself up. 

Blood bursted out of his reopened and worsening scar, dropping onto the ground, no doubt forming a puddle of some kind. 

He moved the sword out of his arm and placed it to the side. His breathing grew heavy and with a shaky hand, he wiped the tears from his eyes away. 

He picked up the sword and slowly moved his arm so it'll be over his legs. With clear vision now, he aimed the tip of the sword to determine how big he'll make the meal. He gripped onto it tightly, trying to calm down his own shaking. 

He shut his eyes and stabbed into himself, cutting into it deeply. His muffled scream reaching a higher pitch than before. 

He widened his eyes and dropped the sword, his breathing growing ragged and heavy when he heard something splashed onto the wet, bloody puddle on the ground. He spat out the sleeve and stared at the bloody mess that was his right arm, his eyes traveling towards the medium sized meat on the ground. 

_ That was part of his arm.  _

He grabbed onto the wet sleeve and rubbed it against his jeans rapidly. Socks quickly grew impatient and just pressed the sleeve onto his arm, the corner of his vision slowly growing black and blurry. 

Despite the best of his ability, he past out in a bloody puddle, pressing the very dampened sleeve onto his right arm. 

He wouldn't be surprised if that would be his last moment. 


End file.
